


Roomie

by mousepatrol



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, M/M, anxious man tries to find a roommate and gets way more than he bargained for, technically an epilogue to an unwritten story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousepatrol/pseuds/mousepatrol
Summary: Evan is struggling to make ends meet and tries to find a roommate.





	1. 1

“Roommate wanted:  
170 Silvia St. Princeton NJ, Apt. 46C  
2 bedrooms, 1 bath, small kitchen with beer and working microwave (clean!)  
Looking for a laid back guy to split rent with - no girlfriends  
5 Guys and pizzaria within walking distance   
Call 848 775 5776 if interested”

Ripping off a piece of masking tape with my teeth, I plastered up the last of my advertisements. The empty roll of tape hung on my wrist as I stared up at the poster and read it over again. No typos, correct address, correct phone number. I was much more worried about this than I should have been, and the thought of living with someone again was giving me massive anxiety. It seemed like a good idea to get an apartment with an extra room at the time, but when I started having trouble keeping down a job the vacant room stayed empty and sucked money straight out of my pocket.

A soft mist began to brush against my cheeks. I rolled down the sleeves of my flannel and threw the cardboard ring in a nearby trash bin as I started to leave the shopping center. My sneakers were already soaked from the previous night, having neglected to let them dry out, and my toes tingled from the cold. I didn't even avoid the puddles, I just kept on straight through them until I reached the bus stop and plopped down on the hard plastic bench underneath the tiny overhang. My bare knees poked through the tears in my jeans that I never patched up. These pants had probably been a part of my wardrobe since middle school, it was too late to fix them now. Now or never and all of that. I chose never.

My feet swung beneath me as I waited. It would have been practical for me to have gotten my own car by now, but dropping out of college had left me with no credentials and made it tough for me to get a well-paying job so I could save up. There was nothing wrong with taking the bus, it was nice enough, but it was another reminder of how I'd failed. If you asked me, I would say I was "between jobs", which is just code for "the only people that will hire me are drug dealers". And yes, I tried that. The money was great, but I was too afraid of getting caught. It was more than once that I hurled as soon as my customer was out of sight, the whole thing made me that nervous. But hey, I was a nervous guy. 

A girl about my age had started waiting with me a few minutes before the bus showed up. I got on, paid, and took a seat at the back by myself. I slipped my beanie off and shook it to get the moisture out, then laid it in my lap as I stared out the window. A moment later, the bus started up again and I felt the girl sit beside me. She was the only other person on the bus. I didn't look, and sat still to try to dissuade her from talking to me.

"It's been pretty gloomy lately, huh?" she said. My tactic often failed.

I nodded without turning. "Yep."

"Where are you headed?"

"Atlantic City," I blurted out, hoping that was far enough away to shut her up.

"Really? I thought I saw you putting up flyers for an apartment in Princeton."

"For a buddy, yeah. I don't live here."

"Right. That's too bad then, I have some coffee money I was dying to use."

"I'm on a tight schedule to get home."

"That's a shame. And here's my stop, too." The bus slowed and she placed a hand on my inner thigh before getting up and walking away. My heart beat out of control and I wanted to collapse in on myself when the bus started moving again. This was one too many times that this had happened. I didn't know if it was my pathetic height, fashion sense of a homeless geriatric, or the utter hopelessness that resonated within me, but I'd been a real chick magnet as of late. A scrap of paper caught my eye and I unfolded it in my lap where she had left it. Her number. I rolled the wad of gum I'd been working on into a ball in my mouth and stuck it right in the center of the paper, tossing it on the ground. Rainbows weren't really my thing, but I thought I'd have to start wearing them if it was the only way to get women off of my dick. 

I didn't have to sit much longer before the bus arrived at my stop. I wrapped my flannel around myself and said a farewell to the driver as I passed by him and stepped into the rain. The third floor felt miles above me as I walked up the three flights of slippery stairs to my room. When I reached it, I shoved the key in the lock and jiggled it around to open it. My shoes came off immediately, and this time I propped them up so they could air out a bit. I flung my wet socks into the basket by the bathroom, but before I entered my own room I stopped to glance at the one that still sat vacant. 

The room had been unoccupied since before I decided to drop out. A bad breakup had left me alone and depressed, and not much had changed since then. It felt wrong to rent the room out, I almost would rather have moved to a new apartment complex just to get away from the memories but I'd renewed my contract again out of a fear of the unknown, and so here I stayed for another six months. By now, it was borderline masochism for me to stay where I was. 

Prying myself away, I went into my own room and closed the door. It felt safer to be more confined, like I could block out some of the memories. I started to hang up my flannel when my phone vibrated in my back pocket. I dropped the garment and hurried to answer the unknown number, saying into the speaker:

"Hey, this is Evan."


	2. 2

The sun had set and I waited on my couch, legs bouncing. He was late. My nerves were fried and I hadn’t eaten anything all day because my stomach was trying to rip itself out of my body. The place was cleaned up, including the empty room that I hadn’t wanted to set foot in ever again. There was nothing in there, although I was expecting to find some lost remnant of times before and have to spend the rest of the day crying or drinking. When that didn’t happen, I ended up doing both anyway. 

By now I was fairly sober, and I should have known that the alcohol would make me more anxious like it always did. I wished I was like everyone else, able to drown away their sorrows in bottles of booze, but I was stuck being the sad drunk. No one enjoyed going to bars with a sad drunk, which was why I got drunk alone in my room. It only made the ordeal even sadder.

And now, I checked the time again. He said he’d be here around dinnertime, which I assumed was six or so. He was probably one of those real go-getter smart types that was so busy saving the world that they forgot to eat for a week straight. It was nearing eight and I decided to call it off. I was exhausted from the terrible afternoon I’d put myself through, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything enough to distract myself.

I stood up on shaky legs and loped over to the door, sliding in the chain lock. My hand dropped back to my side and I began to turn around when there was a loud banging at the door. I quickly put my eye to the peephole and peered out to see a man in sunglasses standing with an assortment of bags. His dirty blond hair, which was obviously a combination of failed bleaches and black re-dyes, was trimmed short on the sides and slicked back like a greaser. Thinner than me, he was sporting too much denim for his own good and I could have sworn i’d been transported back to the 1980s. After I fumbled with the locks, I pulled open the door and gave the man a smile. I hoped I didn’t have anything in my teeth from all the chunks I blew earlier, but it was too late now.

He looked down at me and nodded, his sunglasses making it difficult for me to read his body language. Smacking his gum, he grabbed one of his rolling bags and held his other hand out in front of me, “I’m Matthew. You’re Evan?”

“Uh, yeah yeah, yeah,” I stuttered, giving him the strongest handshake I could. It was probably still pretty weak anyway, this guy was a good four inches taller than me and much leaner. He dropped my hand after a second and I hurried to get out of his way so he could come in. “Here, bring your stuff in and we can get this started…”

He nodded again and walked in, and I hauled the rest of his stuff over the threshold and closed the door. Making sure to lock it, I then turned around to watch him take off his sunglasses and slide them into his pocket. He looked around the living room at the shabby carpet and chipped paint job, and I hoped that he wasn't too unimpressed with the place. It was New Jersey, after all.

"Been living here very long?" Matthew asked me.

"Sort of, yeah, I got this place in college and never relocated or anything. You in college...?" I eyed the man up. He seemed young, no facial hair, no apathetic dullness in his eyes. Maybe fresh out of high school, or from a cushy childhood life.

"No," he waved his hand in front of himself as if brushing off the comment. "I graduated last year from NYU."

Well that was a surprise. He sure didn't look like he was older than me. "Oh, that must've been fun. Uh, why would you come to Jersey...? It's, it's nice and all but, New York is-"

He cut me off with a laugh. "I grew up here. I know Jersey is nothing to be impressed with, but I got offered an internship out here and it made me a little homesick, so I accepted." Matthew went over and gathered his things, sliding them by the coffee table. "Do you have anything to drink? I've been on my feet for hours."

"Sure, you want, uh..." I walked to the fridge and checked out what I had to offer. "Beer? Coke?"

"Honestly, water would be great." He made himself comfortable on the couch.

I got myself a soda, then closed the fridge and filled him up a glass, "That famous NJ tap water." I handed him the cup when I reentered the room, then sat myself on the opposite end of the couch.

"Thanks." Matthew took a gulp of water. "What'd you go to school for?"

That was a terrible question. "Well, literature studies, but uh-"

He cut me off before I could deflect the next inevitable question, "So you're an English teacher? Kids probably love all of your tattoos. The "cool teacher", you know." 

Playing with the frayed hem of my ripped jeans, I shook my head. I wouldn't have gotten hired if I had graduated, anyway. I doubted that even a library would like to have me working there. "I didn't exactly get a degree." The stench of failure filled my nostrils.

"Ah, who cares," he said, to my surprise. I was beginning to warm up to this guy - anyone that was uninterested in my dropout was a friend of mine. "Do you have a job?"

"No, I'm... I'm between jobs right now. That's why I needed a roommate." I laughed, but all he did was give me a little smile. I knew it was pathetic of me not to have a job, but I was too nervous and scared to apply to anything. Working with customers made me anxious and I couldn’t be a salesperson to save my life, what else was there to do? The only person I was comfortable with was myself. I drank some more of my soda in my eternal awkwardness, then rapped my fingers on the armrest and asked, "What's your internship for?"

"Music production," Matthew replied enthusiastically, angling his body more towards me. "My professor got me all buddy-buddy with the recording agencies, and now they're transferring me to this sort of new record label. I'm being paid, luckily. New Jersey's not worth an unpaid internship."

I was pretty impressed by his accomplishment. I'd always wanted to work with music for a living, but I got shot down by all of my peers when they told me I wouldn't make any money. Maybe some of his skill would rub off on me while he stayed here. "Shit that's, that's great man! Were you ever in a band, or do you just produce?"

"I had piano lessons when I was a kid and sorta messed around with it in high school, but nothing happened with it. I'm alright just helping other people get their music out." He uncrossed his legs and continued, "This place is nice and close to the studio, so I'm happy with that."

"Yeah, sorry if the place is a little worn down and shit but it... Works." I rubbed the back of my neck, sheepish. I noticed Matthew had finished his water and quickly asked, "Want to check out your room?"

He nodded and stood up, and we dragged his bags to his new room. While passing by my own room, he stopped me by putting his hand on my shoulder. I stumbled and looked back at him.

"Hold up," Matthew grinned at me, stepping into my room. I watched him go inside and pull my black Les Paul off of its stand - definitely the most expensive thing I owned. "You play? You should've said something!"

Rushing in, I took the guitar from him and put it back down gently. "Just for fun, I, I didn't think it mattered...." Since I was jobless, I had a lot more time lately to start fiddling around with my guitar again. I wasn't one to brag, so I hadn't mentioned it.

"We always need guys coming through the studio. The more music we can put out with our label on it, the better. I'll take you in there, no charge."

I started backing out of the room, "I don't have a band."

"You don't need one," said Matthew, giving my guitar one last look as he followed me out. "You just need yourself."

I brought his stuff into his room and put it on the bed, which I had just fitted with clean white bedding. The whole room was white actually, except for the grey carpet, but I was sure that it had used to be white at some point. Matthew started unpacking his clothes and I waved as I tried to leave without saying anything else.

"Hey, you never know, alright," he told me as I left. "You could make a name for yourself."

I mumbled an, "Uh-huh," and slipped away into my room. Closing the door behind me, I plopped down on my bed and sunk underneath my covers fully dressed. Anxiety swept over me. I couldn't record, there was nothing special that I could do. I was too shy, too inexperienced, and too unwilling. 

My stomach started to cramp.

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and focused on the fact that I had finally filled the vacant room. New memories would be made, and old ones would disappear. I would be comfortable in my own home again. I could forget.

And now, I could sleep.


	3. 3

The studio made me feel claustrophobic. I hooked the side of my foot around one of the posts of the stool I was sitting on, looking down at my other leg that swung side to side. Clutching my guitar to my chest, I focused on the grey, worn carpet beneath me and tried to keep my breathing stable. The only person I’d ever played for in my life was my music teacher. Since I hadn’t taken lessons for what was going on twenty years now, I was damn well nervous.

Looking intent on his work, Matthew sat on the other side of the glass and adjusted an array of knobs on the soundboard. He’d already set my guitar up to record, but he told me that he was going to “enhance” the sound a little. Although I was all for making me sound better than I was, I wasn’t sure that a polished sound was what I was going for. He hadn’t heard me yet, after all, and I hoped he wasn’t expecting some upbeat britpop mess of a melody. After a glance at my appearance, I realized that he could probably tell what kind of music was going to come out of my mouth from the moment we met.

It was almost the second coming of christ when Matthew turned on his mic and said to me over the speaker, “Alright Ev, we’re good. You can start whenever you’re ready.”

Despite the clawing pain I felt in my stomach, I nodded. I propped my guitar up on my leg and reached around to slip my gloves off, hoping they were good and warm as I hadn’t exactly had time to practice this morning. My fingers flexed and I watched the letters on my knuckles contort for a second before I grabbed the neck of my Les Paul to begin. “I’ll just… I’ll do the rhythm part first? And then, I guess, I can listen to that while I play the lead…” I looked to Matthew, who just gave me a thumbs up. “Alright, yeah. Here it goes.”

I pressed my thumb into the neck of my guitar and pushed down on the strings, getting ready. My pick hovered over the strings at the bridge, and I let out a slow exhale with my eyes closed. When they reopened, I brought my pick down hard on the stretched metal strings and banged out the song I’d been stressing over for weeks. 

The notes came the same as they had in my bedroom. I’d been sitting on this song for longer than I’d like to admit, and hearing the chords reverberate in the tiny room took me back to the first time I played it. I whispered the words to myself, _“We wasted our time in each other’s arms, I was head over heels for a ghost.”_ The tips of my fingers ached as they had before, not from the harshness of the strings, but from the pain of the memories. I had never wanted to think about him again, yet here I was. A masochist reliving the pain of lost love. His face invaded my thoughts, and I did my best to focus on the music. _“Everything locked in memories, your touch a faded dream.”_

At this point I was glad I wasn’t singing because I could barely make the words out through my teeth. My throat was closing up. Attempting to hold in tears, I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling, blinking, as I continued thrashing on my guitar. _“You were the apple of my eye, the seventh sin; a mistake, and now one more regret lost in time.”_ My overgrown black hair swayed with me while I played. I recalled how long his hair was when we were together, bleached blond locks down to his shoulders. The way he used to push that awful fringe I had out of my eyes. How we laid in our dorm and blasted the Misfits and Iron Maiden, until eventually we would - god, god I couldn’t even think about it.

I was on the last chorus before I knew it, and after I strummed the final chord I muttered to myself, “I wish that we could be, just like we were.” Without looking up to see what my roommate had to say, I dabbed at my eyes to make calm how brightly red they were from holding in tears. He couldn’t know that I was fucking crying about this. Wiping moisture from my cheeks, I asked, “Was that okay?” and then brushed the hair from my face to glance at Matthew.

He had taken off his headphones and was turned sideways to talk to someone that had walked into the studio, presumably while I was still recording. The man standing there was very animated, making large gestures with one hand and holding a box to his hip with the other. He bent down and put the box on the floor by Matthew’s feet, then straightened up again and rested his hands on his hips. It looked like he’d come from a meeting, with the full suit that he was wearing. Although, this would have been a meeting at which stark white suits and just as dazzling blue hair were commonplace. 

I watched the two of them interact for a minute, until Matthew noticed that I had finished and spun around to talk into the mic. “Nice job,” he said. “Sorry I had to stop listening, I had some unexpected… Company.” He scooted his chair over a little and the man who he’d been talking to turned to face me and waved from behind the glass.

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull when I saw the tiny smile of the man I once knew. The corners of his lips pulled up just as I remembered them, and as he waved I noticed the faded tattoo that peeked out from under his shirtsleeve on his wrist - _Keep going_. It was him, it really was. Did he know it was me? I dearly hoped there was a glare, as I had just rolled out of bed to accompany Matthew to his studio that morning and I didn’t want to leave him with a lasting memory of my pit-stained sweatshirt.

In a split second he was gone, headed for the door. His electric hair disappeared before I could speak up, if my voice would have even been able to hold steady. Then, Matthew slid his headphones back on and said the words that kept me up all night for the weeks to come:

“That’s my brother, Russell.”


	4. 4

We were sitting on the couch, our feet up on the coffee table as we had breakfast. Matthew was slurping voraciously at his bowl of cereal while trying to type something on his phone that was in his lap. I watched him, munching on my own toast and jam, and bit my lip to suppress my laughter. He was terrible at multitasking, but he felt like he had to do it when he was in a hurry. Every morning was a comedy act.

Matt and I had grown a lot closer in the past few months that we had been living together. After our recording session, he helped me put together a few more songs until I gave up on the project, telling him I was going to start looking for a job. Although this wasn’t a lie, I was more concerned about dodging his brother than getting hired. Even since he appeared in the studio the first time, I was terrified he’d be back. 

Initially, I had wondered if it would be good for us to see each other again. We could stitch up our wounds once and for all and move on from what happened. But as the weeks dragged on, the anxiety of him catching me off guard began to drive me mad. I stopped going to the studio. I stopped leaving the house unless we were out of beer. I spent all of my time in my room with my guitar, too scared to even sit in the living room by myself when Matthew was away. I was consumed by paranoia.

My health declined from the constant loneliness and lack of livelihood, and Matthew took notice. So, we started a new sort of regimen. Every morning, he would wake me up before he went to work and we would have breakfast together. Then he would be gone for most of the day, and in the evenings when he was home we usually watched some cult classic movie that was on. Yesterday was American Psycho, tonight was SLC Punk. 

As I was brushing the crumbs off of my grey sweater, the doorbell rang. Matthew jumped up, sloshing milk onto his hands. He groaned and ran to the kitchen, throwing his dishes in the sink and washing his hands.

“That your ride?” I called to him, reaching over to set my plate on the coffee table.

"Yeah, I guess he's early," Matthew said, wiping his hands on his pants. He slipped his shoes on and ran to open the door, babbling, "Sorry man, sorry, got distracted, let's -"

I leaned forward to get a peek at who was there, and standing in the doorway was the same god-awful man I had been dreading for weeks - no, for fucking years. Quickly, I bent over the couch as if I was looking for something I had dropped, hoping he wouldn’t see me.

“Russ, don’t you have work?”

“I’m not on as tight of a schedule as you are, kiddo.” The door closed and I heard their feet move slightly closer to where I attempted to hide. “I brought you some more stuff.”

“Oh, yeah thanks. I couldn’t really bring that much stuff from home…”

“I know, I have more in the car out front. Mom was getting sick of it all and asked me to come pick it up.”

“Wait, how much stuff do you have?”

“Like… Four boxes. Five, I don’t fucking know. You have a lot of shit.”

“Russ, I, I don’t have time, I gotta - Evan?”

I popped my head up at my name, forcing a smile.

“What… What are you doing?” Matthew and his brother stood near the door, both turned to stare at me. There was a cardboard box pushed to the side, overflowing with cables and video game paraphernalia. They watched me expectantly.

I grabbed the remote that was sitting on the arm of the couch beside me, waving it around, “Just, uh just dropped the fuckin remote. Yeah. Fuck.” I coughed up a laugh.

Matthew slowly started nodding, “Okay, alright, cool. So, this is Evan. He’s chill, he can help you bring everything up and he knows where all of my things go.”

“Did I see you at Matt’s studio a while back?” Russell asked me. He was stalling, trying to keep his brother from leaving. His blue hair was now faded to a greenish-toothpaste sort of colour, and he looked more real now that he was wearing something other than a suit. He seemed alive, familiar. No longer a memory.

I muttered a yes, and Matthew explained for me, “We whipped up some sweet tracks he could play for you. But I mean, seriously, I have got to get out of here.” He pushed past Russell and grabbed his jacket off of the ground, then stepped outside, “I’ll bring back something for dinner, Ev. Seeya!”

Then it was us. Alone. I didn’t know what to say, if I should pick up where we left off or pretend we were strangers. My eyes drifted to the remote in my hands, and I turned it over once or twice. He cleared his throat. I shuffled my feet.

When the tension became unbearable, he said in a calm, soft voice, “Will you help me bring the rest of the boxes in?”

Quickly, I nodded and tossed the remote behind me as I got up. I refused to focus on him, staring at the floor or the walls, as he opened the door and led me downstairs to where his car was parked. We carried the boxes up one by one in silence until they were all lying on the floor of my living room. I desperately wanted this exchange to be over, but was too petrified to hint that he should leave. Instead, I just decided to say, "So... You have a brother," as we stood at opposite ends of my kitchen table.

"Yeah, I do," Russell shrugged. I watched his shoulders gently touch the tips of his fading hair, struggling to keep my gaze away from his eyes.

"You never told me about him," I mumbled, running my fingers across the top of the chair I stood behind.

"Evan..." he said sternly. I shuddered when he said my name. He noticed, I was sure, and brought his tone down to a more soothing rumble. “There were some things I couldn’t tell you. We were just kids in college, I… I wanted to start fresh.”

I swallowed. “Is there anything else you kept a secret?”

“Why don’t we just talk this through?” Russell sighed, trying to move closer to me. I looked up at him for the first time and remembered how those green eyes used to drip with longing every time they met mine. My throat was dry. 

He took one more step towards me, and this time I backed up. “I think you need to leave,” I whispered, my voice tiny and threatening to break. 

Holding up his hands, he stopped and said, “Okay, okay. At least let me help you unpack Matt’s stuff. Then, I’ll leave.”

I focused intently on the ground for a solid minute before deciding, “... Fine. Unpack your brother’s shit and then get out of here.”

Russell nodded and wasted no time in piling as much stuff as he could carry into his arms. I didn’t take any - if he wanted to do the work, he could fucking do it. When he was ready, I led him down the hallway and into Matt’s room. It had been drastically redecorated, with black sheets hung up on two walls and an array of polaroids pinned up on the others. He left a bit of a mess, but he was always so pressed for time that it didn’t bother me so much. I wasn’t the cleanest, either. I took a seat on his unmade bed and pointed to his bookshelf, “Put all the games up there.”

Turning his back to me, Russell did as I said. He was about to leave the room again when he finished, but he waited in the doorway for second to say, “I thought you would have taken the bigger room.”

“You contaminated it,” I replied quickly. I’d rehearsed this scenario in my head too many times. He was predictable.  
Russell laughed, and his smile flooded me with fond memories. Hot cocoa as the snow drifted down, painting our faces on Halloween. He’d laugh, caress my cheek, and kiss my temple. Kiss me, he’d kiss me. It ruined me inside to remember that he’d kiss me.

Leaning on the doorframe, he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and said, “I’d say that we contaminated it.”

He wasn’t wrong. My heart was racing, and I could barely breathe. I was so frustrated, he instilled so much fear and anxiety into me that I had never dealt with before I met him. I used to be confident. I used to like myself. Russell had been my saviour and now he had damned me to a life of misery and paranoia. Rage boiled up inside of me. This was not who I was; I wouldn’t be someone’s plaything.

I was on my feet. My hands were balled up in fists and I closed the few feet that were between us. He loomed over me, one side of his lips hitched up in a smile. My mouth opened and I stuttered, trying to think of something to say to assert myself. All came out was gibberish, and Russell crossed his arms as he stared down at my sputtering little body. Cheeks pink and eyes wide, I finally broke.

I grabbed his face, wads of knotted pastel hair in both hands, and forced my lips onto his.


	5. 5

It was morning. I wasn’t sure where the sun was in the sky, but it was definitely morning when the other side of my bed depressed next to me. I felt him slip his arm over my shoulders as I laid on my stomach, and I turned my head to open my sleep-drunken eyes and look at him.

He pulled my blankets back over my body from where they had been thrown off in the night, resting his head on the pillow just inches from mine. His hair had been dyed the brightest, ultramarine blue again and he’d cut it to a nice crop that was similar to a style he’d had in high school. Those pictures that Matthew showed me one night were both hideous and endearing, but he seemed to be pulling off the style much more elegantly ten years later.

Refusing to wake up, I gave him a smile but quickly buried my face into the pillow again. He took my chin in one of his gloved hands and turned my head with a gentle touch, and I scrunched up my face in annoyance.

“I’m sleeping,” I groaned.

“Then stop.” He patted my cheek and I grabbed his hand to keep it there. 

“Is it cold out?” I ran my thumb over the fabric of his glove.

“It’s cold inside. You never turn the heat on. You should try it sometime, it could warm up that little heart of yours,” he teased, wrenching his hand away and climbing under the blankets with me. Of course it was freezing in my apartment, how else would I be able to sleep under four layers of jackets and another three of blankets? That was how winter was supposed to be experienced. Six months of prime snuggle weather, hot cocoa, and staying indoors.

My hand snaked over his hip to pull him closer to me, and I slipped my hand inside of his jacket to rub his back. I raised an eyebrow as I felt around down there, “Wha… Russ, are you…” I lifted myself up and rested on one elbow as I pulled the blankets off of him slightly. For the second time since our studio reunion, he was wearing a three-piece suit. This time it was toned down quite a bit, being the normal black instead of the striking white, but I couldn’t fathom why he was wearing a goddamn suit. 

“Again?” was all I asked him.

Russell rolled his eyes and brought the blankets down, flipping onto his back. “I have an interview today.”

“An interview for what, the nerd patrol? Some kind of D&D biker gang?” I sat up and leaned back on the wall that my bed was against. “I thought you had a job writing for the paper.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He seemed very small in my bed, albeit the thing was only a full and we were constantly pushing each other off. Up to his neck in blankets, his fingers peeked out near his chin and he let out a loud sigh. 

He was sad. I couldn’t take this shit. We were only together for a few hours every morning after he dropped Matthew off at work, so there was no moping allowed when he was with me. I pulled my socks off, tossing them on the floor, and shoved my rank feet in Russell’s face to cheer him up. Yeah, I had the comedic taste of a seven-year-old boy. 

He just about gagged, batting them away. “Fuck you, Frey!” he said as he rolled out of bed, taking my comforter with him. That suit did look great on him, I wasn’t gonna lie, I thought as I watched him stomp out of my room and down the hallway. He probably just needed his coffee.

So, I got up and stripped off several of the sweatshirts I was wearing, pulling a new t-shirt over my head that was… Well, alright, it wasn’t new. There was definitely some sort of a stain on the bottom of it, and I vaguely remembered wearing it a few days ago, but it was different than the one I had just taken off so it was good enough. I layered a heavy cardigan over it and this old army jacket I’d gotten from the thrift shop, then covered up my ass with a pair of ripped jeans from the fifth grade and I was ready to go.

Like a gentleman, I stopped to brush my teeth and take a piss before I met Russell again in the kitchen. He had taken off his jacket and loosened his tie, and was at my tiny, two-person dining table sipping on his coffee. Again, he’d nabbed my favourite mug with all the dogs on it, so I just grabbed any old one from the cabinet and made myself some tea. Coffee didn’t sit too well in my stomach anymore.

He was still moping, so as my tea steeped I gazed out the window. A flurry of white was whipping every which-way, and my jaw dropped open. “Russ, it’s fucking snowing; it’s the first snow of the season, I gotta take some pictures.” I grinned, watching the delicate flakes hit the window and melt. “Did this - did you not tell me?”

Russell shrugged, pouring himself more coffee. “I didn’t think it was that important right now.”

“You know I love the snow,” I reminded him, picking up my mug and sitting down at the other seat across from him. He stared down into the depths of his warm drink, and I slid my feet on top of his to get his attention. My toes prodded at his socks, but he didn't look up. I took a swig of my tea, grunting as I sat up again, and finally said, “Okay, what’s wrong? Something’s wrong. Just tell me. You broke my heart once, I can handle anything now.”

“I don’t really wanna say.”

“... Russell , we can’t do this again,” I insisted.

He stayed quiet, picking at the skin on his fingers instead of looking at me. Reaching across the table, I tried to take his hand but his fingers laid limp between mine. Immediately, my mind conjured up terrible thoughts. Did he want to dump me? Again? Did he lose his job? Did someone die? My heart started to beat a little faster, and I slowed my breathing to try to calm it back down. I was thinking too much into this.

The man opposite me hadn’t moved for nearly ten minutes when I sighed, standing up and grabbing my mug. I walked around to the other side of the table and put my hand on Russell’s back, urging him to get up. It took a moment, but he too picked up his drink and stood with me. I put on my slippers that had been left underneath the table from the night before, and put my hand on the small of his back to lead him outside.

We stood underneath the overhang in front of my apartment watching the snow fall. Steam drifted upwards from our cups and the warm air that gently escaped our bodies with each exhale. He was a little taller than me, so I was able to rest my head on his shoulder when I finished my tea, bobbing up and down slightly with each breath he took. Sounds were muffled by the white blankets of snow and it became uncomfortably quiet.

“I have to leave early today,” said Russell without warning. He nudged me off of his shoulder and took a few steps over to the balcony, leaning on the railing.

I followed him, putting my feet on the railing to make myself as tall as he was. “Because of the interview?”

“Yeah.” He ran his fingers along the rim of his empty mug.

“Where is it?” I prodded, trying to get his mind off of whatever was bothering him.

He handed his cup to me, and I raised an eyebrow as I took it from him. Then, he dropped his head into his hands and muttered, “New York City.”

Confused, I massaged the back of his neck with my open hand. “That sounds great! Is it, is it the Times or something? It’s in New York, it’s gotta be good - why are you upset about it?”

“No, Evan, it’s -” Russell laid one arm down on the railing to look at me, and I retracted my hand from his neck. His eyes were as redder than my flushed cheeks when he said, “I’ve got a comic to pitch to Vertigo this afternoon. Their HQ is in the city.”

I could hardly keep myself from suffocating him in a hug right then and there. Russell’s dream was to publish his own comic, and now he had a chance to do it. I was unbelievably proud of him, “Russ! That’s fucking amazing, that - that’s the best shit I’ve heard in years! You’re gonna be - Wait, no, no -”

Tears began to overflow from his eyelids as I spoke, and I rushed to put down the mugs by my feet so I could embrace him and give him some comfort. “Are you nervous?” I whispered to him as I rubbed his shoulders and arms to relax his trembling body. “It’s okay, I know you’re going to be amazing and you’ll get the job and we can move out to the city and -”

“That’s the problem,” he said as he choked back sobs. “You can’t come. I don’t want to leave you again, but you… You can’t come with me.”

I continued to hold him, but pulled back a bit to look him in the eyes. He was terrified, and looked awful. As calmly as I could, I replied, “I can get the money, Russell, I won’t renew my lease on this place next month and we can find something of our own. You don’t have to worry.”

“No!” Suddenly he backed up, clutching his arms like he was about to fall apart. “This isn’t about me or you. This is about Matt.” Wiping frozen tears from his eyelashes, he continued, “You have to stay here with Matt, and I have to go to New York. I - I can’t leave him alone again, and I can’t tell him about us… I’m worried he’ll relapse, and he… He can’t be alone again.”

Russell’s brother had been very reserved when speaking of his past, and this confession cleared a few things up for me. He wasn’t just this relaxed guy that needed a place to stay - he needed a whole new life. And we were going to ruin it. I swallowed, and Russell bit his lip. “So… What are we going to do?”

He put his hand to his mouth, saying through his fingers, “That’s what I just can’t figure out.”


	6. 6

Half-melted snow sloshed around my feet as I shuffled through the streets of Edison. We’d gotten some snow a couple days ago but it didn’t stay for long, and now the remnants only served to soak my sneakers. I had to admit, they were getting pretty grungy by now. I had another pair of newer shoes, but what would be the point of wearing them out to get dirty? I didn’t mind my toes being cold anyway, and kicked a lump of ice out of my way.

I’d decided to walk the two miles from the train station to the coffee shop instead of wait for the bus. I kind of knew my way around, it was this town in Jersey I’d been to a couple times before with kids I’d known in my few years at college. It was a lot nicer and bigger than where I grew up but you could still smell New Jersey coming out of its sewer grates.

Rounding the corner of the last block, I clutched the small package I was holding tightly in my hands. I stopped for a moment to scan the area for signs of life. Water droplets fell off of a tree behind me and a car passed by - I watched it and peered into the window from afar but the woman driving was someone I didn’t recognize. So I sighed and continued on, making my way inside of the coffee shop.

It was around eleven in the morning by then and the morning coffee rush had long been over. The bell jingled on the door as I entered and I stuffed the package inside of the pocket of my hoodie while walking up to the barista. He finished whatever mocha-frickafracka-whatsit he was working on and called out a name, blank eyes looking bored. I hurried to grab a menu to read before he might’ve started talking to me. I honestly could have been reading another language as I looked through the different drinks, I don’t know a goddam thing about coffee. I skipped back to the last page and found my saviour - tea. There was chamomile, and earl grey, and sweet fruity acai, and warm peach, and cool green, and -

“Do you know what you want?” the barista interjected.

Startled, I nearly dropped the menu and quickly shuffled through my pockets to find my wallet. “Yeah, uh, just a large peppermint tea with extra honey and...” I pulled out my wallet and gazed over at the pastries longingly. “Do you have any muffins without dairy in them?”

He stared at me for a second before he went to the display case and pointed, “Only the pumpkin ones. You want one?”

“Yeah just one of those,” I muttered, leafing through my wallet. Jesus fuck, I thought, counting my bills. I was going to be a couple dollars short. Face reddening, I pulled out what I had and backtracked, “You know what I’m good I’ll jus-”

A figure appeared by my side and slid me a ten. “- Have two, actually, and a medium black coffee.” 

I looked up and my lips pulled into a smile. With his icy blue hair and eyes covered by sunglasses, Russell had come to my rescue just in the nick of time. The barista rung up our order and I handed over the money. When he turned around again to fix our drinks, I smiled sheepishly at Russell and said, “Thanks, man.”

He grinned and said nothing. We waited a moment, then took what we ordered from the barista and found a place to sit in the empty cafe. Russell put his pastry down on the table and walked off, and I sat on the worn cloth seat to wait for him to come back. Letting my tea steep, I noted how he held himself with a sense of confidence that I hadn’t seen in the month prior. He’d learned how to stand a little straighter, talk a little louder, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Every time I saw him he lost a piece of what I knew him as before, and that made me uneasy. I wondered if soon I would even recognize him, or if his new job in the city would transform him into another person altogether.

But anyway, he looked happy, and from what he had been telling me he was doing well. The adjustment hadn’t been too hard on either of the brothers, and I knew I would have struggled a lot more than they had if somehow I had been able to tag along. He was dressed nicely with skinny jeans and a new, sleek overcoat hadn’t seen before, and he was snuggled in a multicoloured scarf. I became aware of how I looked as I watched Russell pour sugar and cream into his coffee (the pansy) - I still hadn’t gotten over myself and bought a new pair of jeans, so mine were riddled with holes, and instead of a winter coat I had on a hoodie with an even bigger hoodie over it. I was classy though, and I took them off when I got inside and into the heat. 

At this point I was so wrapped up in my own head that Russell had to get my attention when he sat across from me at the table with his coffee. My head bobbed up, seeing his fingers snap beneath my nose, and blood filled my cheeks. I let out a little laugh.

“You okay there?” he asked me. “You looked like you were about to fall asleep.”

I shook my head, grabbing my muffin and tearing a piece off. “I’m not tired.”

“That’s such a lie,” Russell laughed, taking a big gulp of his sweetened drink. “When did you go to sleep last night?”

My eyes narrowed as I took a minute to think. I’d been up with anxiety for most of the night so yeah, I guess I was a little tired. “Like four or something.” I shoved the pastry into my mouth.

He seemed unphased by what I said, watching me. I swallowed and suddenly reached over and grabbed his sunglasses off of his face, wanting to be able to see his eyes. 

Russell immediately snatched them back from me and shoved them onto his face, but not before I saw the pale purple and red explosion encircling his right eye. His lips pursed and I could see his jaw lock as he continued his watch on me, nearly crushing his coffee cup with the intense grip he had on it now. I’d slid back in my seat from his violent reaction and my lips parted as I tried to find something to say.

“When did that happen?” I asked him, trying to be as calm as possible in that moment.

He was being careful with his words, taking a lot of time to think before speaking or doing anything. Finally, though, he relaxed his muscles a bit and let his jaw go slack again. “A couple days ago,” he said, “on the subway into Grand Central.” 

“Wha- who did- what?!” I sputtered.

“Some guy,” he huffed, making big gestures with his hands. “He came over to me before he got off the train, called me a faggot, and socked me right in the eye. And then he left and I went to work and nothing happened.”

I bit my lip as Russell loosened his scarf and made himself more comfortable. He swept a hand through his blue hair and it all fell to one side, obscuring part of his face. “Why would someone do that to you… Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” My gaze drifted away from his face and down to his hands, fidgeting as he pulled apart the rest of his pastry.

“I dunno, I must’ve looked like a faggot,” he snapped. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to worry last night.”

I started to get frustrated with him. I hadn’t gone out of my way to meet him for coffee that I couldn’t even afford, just so he could take his anger out on me. “Russ, chill the fuck out. I’m sorry you got hurt but I can’t do a damn thing if you’re bein’ short with me. I didn’t do anything to you.” Although I still couldn’t see his eyes, he seemed to deflate a little. Maybe he’d be reasonable now. “Anyway… You said you got hit a couple days ago, not last night.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” he stiffened. “It felt like yesterday.” 

It had looked to me like the bruise couldn’t’ve been more than a day old, but I didn’t trust myself to remember exactly what colours it was when I’d only seen it for a moment. It wasn’t really worth it to bring it up anymore, I thought, so I took a swig from my tea and then dug through my pile of sweatshirts to find the package I had brought with me. I set it on the table and pushed it over to Russell, whose lips turned down into a frown at the offering. 

“You got me something?” he asked. “What for?”

“For nothing.”

“I’ve been an ass, I don’t really feel like I deserve it now…” He picked up the package and turned it over once in his hands. “You don’t need to buy me things, I know you still haven’t found a job.”

I sighed. Job-hunting was still my least favourite thing to talk about, but at least money was a lesser issue now that Russell had found me a smaller apartment and was helping with the rent. Vertigo was paying him well. “It doesn’t matter. Will you just open the damn thing?” My head dropped into my hands. He was being an absolute child this morning. “It’s already bought and I’m just trying to be a cute fucking boyfriend but I’m tired and I can’t deal with your shit right now.”

“Sorry,” Russell whispered, starting to pry open the package. I could hear him mutter under his breath something about him being right that I was tired. A minute later I heard a little clink of glass on the table and I looked up.

“Ink?”

“Yeah!” My face lit up a bit. I’d been really excited to give him this gift - a small pot of beautiful shimmering blue ink, just like his hair. “It’s for your fountain pen. I found it when we moved all of your shit to your new place, remember? You said you broke your last ink bottle and you kept forgetting to buy more.”

“Wow, yeah,” he held the glass bottle up to the light to see the colour sparkle. “I’m surprised you remembered. I haven’t used that pen in years.”

“You liked it back in college.”

“Ha, didn’t I write an art history paper for you with that pen?” he was smiling again, and I smiled back, contagious.

“Yeah man, and when you gave it to me half the thing was smudged up!” 

We spent a blissful moment laughing and our faces turned pink with happiness. I knew things were different now, but it was hard not to think about the good ol’ days back in college when everything was easy. Sure it didn’t work out so well, but we were happy while it lasted and I hoped now we could get back to that state of mind. 

After we caught our breath, I said, “Hey, you gotta do me a favour now since I got you that present.”

“That’s not how presents work!” Russell smirked, “But I’ll do it anyway. Whatcha want?”

“Since you’re a goddam celebrity living in New _Yuck_ City and I never get to see you and Matt anymore, you have to use that ink and write me some goddam sincere handwritten letters. That way, next time you get knocked in the face I’ll know a couple days after just ‘cuz snail mail can suck my balls.”

Russell burst out laughing again, but managed to say, “Alright, alright, I’ll do it! And Matt misses you, ya know. He wants you to record more.”

“Send some money with your letters and I’ll take the train up to meet him sometime.”

“I know, I know, you just want me for my money. Thanks for the present,” Russell lifted himself out of his seat slightly to lean over the table and give me a kiss on the forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, dammit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 5/30/18: I seriously still love this story and I have so much background for it, I'm gonna do my best to maybe finish this over the summer and start the prequel/real story. No promises at all, but these chapters are supposed to be short so they might be manageable as long as I'm able to decide on a proper ending. Cheers ~


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